This must be the place: I want to hold you in the Bible black pre-dawn, what was I thinking when we said hello?
It’s Sunday, Feb. 13. The Super Bowl will be underway in about six hours. I’m sitting at a table in the depths of Orchard Coffee in downtown Waynesville. Large cup of coffee (with a shot of espresso) nearby. A breakfast sandwich and yogurt soon to be arriving.
This must be the place: My dreams fading down the railway line, I’m just about a moonlight mile down the road
It’s 9:21 a.m. Monday. Room 130. Super 8 Motel on the outskirts of Valdosta, Georgia. The air in the space is cool from the ragged old air-conditioner underneath the window. TV blaring some holiday rom-com flick, but the sound is muted. The Rolling Stones’ “Moonlight Mile” swirling around the bed from the laptop speakers.
This must be the place
It’s 11:16 a.m. Wednesday. Sitting in the lobby of the Dunes Inn & Suites on Tybee Island, Georgia, I can finally collect myself and write this column, seeing as the Wi-Fi is only good in the lobby and not the motel room (#132) at the back of the property.
This must be the place: Won’t somebody tell me what I’m doing here? Won’t somebody tell me where I’m going?
Finishing up my scrambled eggs and black cherry yogurt, I washed the dishes in the small sink. Dried off my hands and took another sip of my coffee. Mosey over to my ragged desk in my humble abode, in front of a dusty window with a slight view of Russ Avenue in downtown Waynesville.
Reminders of humanity after a grueling day
In today’s unpredictable, chaotic world, we’re in search of anything that offers hope for humanity.
In Pursuit of Nothing
By Jordan Israel • Rumble Contributor | I love the feeling of unfettered potential in a new notebook. This may explain my lifelong affection for office supplies, and why the prospect of the back-to-school season fills me with spiral-bound hope. I feel renewed in the fluorescent glow of a Staples in Mid-August.
When distractions — and watchful angels — soothe grief
They say the weeks leading up to the anniversary of a loved one’s death are harder than the day itself.
I’d say that’s true.
This must be the place: Rolling on from town to town, been so many places, still don’t know where I’m bound
With my feet dangling out of the back window of the truck, a cool morning breeze rolled through the Tacoma and woke me up. The first thing I saw was the silent pond below the vehicle, a handful of small tents situated around the body of water.
Perhaps we all need to laugh a little more
Recently I realized I needed to laugh more often.
I do laugh when I’m on the phone with one of my children or a friend, and occasionally if I watch some YouTube video.
Juggling the five balls
I recently went on a girls’ beach trip to Hilton Head Island. It’d been a while since I enjoyed surf and sun with my female tribe. The last all-female excursion was in August of 2016, the same week my mom passed away unexpectedly. She’d been battling cancer but was projected to live much longer, so her death came as a shock. Every time I thought about a girls’ beach trip, my stomach knotted. I associated the timing of my previous experience with my mother’s passing.
